


The Breakfast Club

by DoctorTrekLock



Series: Resolution19 [33]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Breakfast, Breakfast is Chaos, Established Relationship, Gen, Happy Tower Time AU, M/M, Team Bonding, The Avengers - Freeform, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Tony Stark Is A Diva
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 03:15:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20036992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorTrekLock/pseuds/DoctorTrekLock
Summary: The communal kitchen of Avengers Tower was in its usual morning uproar. Clint was sitting on the edge of the counter juggling eggs and cracking them one by one into the fry pans next to him, where Bruce was making omelettes with the vegetables Natasha had just chopped up. On the other stove, Steve was stirring a huge vat of oatmeal. Thor was in charge of squeezing orange juice, and had managed to splash every counter and flat surface in a four foot radius. Tony was nominally in charge of setting the table, though in actuality he was just sitting at the table fiddling with something on his StarkPad and complaining loudly about freeloaders and obsolete tech.





	The Breakfast Club

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Breakfast at Avengers Tower  
Source: Me. Because this was going to be the beginning of [another fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20609924), and then I got a little carried away from the prompt.  
Title: the movie "The Breakfast Club"
> 
> Originally posted July 29, 2019 on [Tumblr](https://doctortreklock.tumblr.com/post/186646701172/the-breakfast-club-july-29-2019)

The communal kitchen of Avengers Tower was in its usual morning uproar. Clint was sitting on the edge of the counter juggling eggs and cracking them one by one into the fry pans next to him, where Bruce was making omelettes with the vegetables Natasha had just chopped up. On the other stove, Steve was stirring a huge vat of oatmeal. Thor was in charge of squeezing orange juice, and had managed to splash every counter and flat surface in a four foot radius. Tony was nominally in charge of setting the table, though in actuality he was just sitting at the table fiddling with something on his StarkPad and complaining loudly about freeloaders and obsolete tech.

"--running missile software on eight-inch _floppy drives_, I tell you--"

"I think that's enough green pepp--or not, we can always add more."

"Maybe they didn't want you trying to interrupt a nuke launch."

"I require more oranges! Where may I find more of this mighty fruit?"

"It's well within my rights as an American citizen to know our nuclear warheads are--"

"I don't really think anyone believes you're curious out of 'patriotic duty', Stark."

"Where are the oranges?"

"Children," Phil chided gently, gliding into the room in full Agent Coulson mode and immediately taking control of the room. "Thor, there are more oranges in the pantry, bottom shelf on the left in the back. Stark, if the United States government required your input on nuclear protocols, they would request it. Natasha, I believe that's probably enough green pepper for Captain Rogers. Clint, please get off the counter; we prepare food there. Bruce, Captain, how long do we have left on breakfast?" His voice was firm, but Clint could see the warmth in his eyes that he only had when dealing with his favorite group of rogue elements.

The bustle of hungry superheroes fell instantly into smoothly organized chaos.

"Half a minute," Bruce called, absently poking at one pan.

"Just about ready," Steve declared. "Clint?"

Clint had just finished replacing the unused eggs in their carton in anticipation of the Captain's request. He hopped off the counter and whipped open a drawer, pulling a large, lopsided, crocheted potholder out of it and tossing it over to the table, where it landed neatly in the middle. Then he hip-checked the drawer closed and leaned over to give his boyfriend a short, but very warm welcome.

"Hi," he whispered after breaking the kiss.

"Good morning," Phil whispered back, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening in a smile.

"Oi, Barton!" Tony yelled, not looking up from where he was poking at his StarkPad. "You can canoodle with Agent later."

"Yeah, yeah," Clint shouted, waving an arm vaguely in Tony's direction and peeling off from Phil to help Bruce plate omelettes.

By now Natasha had neatly cleaned up her chopping station, the offending green pepper and her knives nowhere to be seen. Instead, she slid neatly through the whirlwind of her teammates to end up next to the silverware drawer and started picking through the haphazard mess of utensils with ease.

"'Scuse me," Steve said loudly, lugging the heavy tub of hot oatmeal through the kitchen easily. "Pardon me, coming through."

Thor stepped out of the pantry with an armful of oranges and nearly got clipped by the steaming pot. "Apologies, friend," he called, neatly sidestepping around Steve and back to his squeezing station. "I had merely gone to fetch the object of my quest and did not see you there!"

"'S fine," Steve said, concentrating on maneuvering the heavy pot around Tony's head, since the inventor didn't seem inclined to move.

Finally, the large silver stock pot settled on the potholder with a thud, and Steve sighed happily. "There."

"Hmm?" Tony looked up to find the oatmeal right in front of him and a supersoldier behind him. "Cool." He craned his head straight back to meet Steve's eyes. "We got any bowls?"

Steve put his hands on his hips and scowled down at the billionaire. "You do have legs you know. They're not even broken," he pointed out.

Tony just laid the back of one hand dramatically over his forehead and leaned sideways off his chair to get the appropriate depth to the motion. "Oh, but my good Captain," he exclaimed dramatically, "I couldn't _possibly_." He gave Steve his biggest, most beseeching eyes.

Steve wavered.

"Tony," Phil warned mildly from the other side of the kitchen where he had busied himself with the coffeepot.

Tony huffed. "Fine." He left his StarkPad on the table and pushed himself to his feet. "Don't know why I have to do this," he muttered. "It's my tower, after--Hey!" he shouted as a spoon clipped him on its way to the table. "What was that for?"

"Oops," Natasha deadpanned, holding a fistful of silver.

Clint snickered. He was attempting to balance two plates on each arm and one on the top of his head, but the omelette on his head was wobbling dangerously with each laugh.

"Two at a time, Clint," Phil told him exasperatedly, reaching for the plate, but before the senior agent could reach it, the plate had already tipped past the point of no return.

Natasha caught it deftly, twisting her wrist neatly to avoid losing the omelette. "_Ostorozhno, yastrebka_," she scolded him.

"Sorry, Nat." Clint's grin was bashful.

Bruce sighed good-naturedly, the last two plated omelettes safely in his hands. "If we're quite finished...."

"Why is the floor sticky?" Tony wrinkled his nose as his sneakers stuck to the tile floor.

"I have vanquished the orange fruits and emerged victorious with pitchers of glorious orange juice!" Thor proclaimed, brandishing a pair of very large pitchers brimming with freshly squeezed orange juice.

"Oh," Tony said, staring at the disaster of _orange_ where he used to have a counter. "Is someone going to clean that up?"

"On it," Steve said. "Thor, the juice can go on the table. Tony, _bowls_." Steve looked pointedly at the cupboard behind the genius.

"Make way, friends, for the sweet orange nectar which I have wrung from yon wasted fruits!" Thor swapped places with Steve, managing to set the pitchers on the table without losing any or running into Clint, Bruce, or Natasha, all of whom were now flitting around the table with their plates and silverware.

"I'm getting there, I'm getting there," Tony said. "Hold your horses, Cap." He pulled the door to one of the upper cabinets open with a flourish, then paused and frowned. "Aren't the bowls in here?"

A suited arm cut across his vision and closed the cabinet before opening the next one over. "They're in here, the same place they've been for the past six months," Phil said, holding the door with one hand and sipping the coffee held in his other. "Grab seven. Clint," he called. "If you're done bothering Dr. Banner and Natasha, you could get the rest of the oatmeal fixings out."

"On it," Clint called, tossing Phil a grin and a sloppy salute.

Phil smiled into his coffee mug.

"That's disgusting," Tony said, gaping at Phil. "The two of you, in a public venue no less--"

"_Bowls_, Stark," Phil said, letting go of the door and turning to survey the table. The corner of his mouth turned up a little when Tony yelped at the cabinet door auto-closing on him.

It was almost time to eat. The table was just missing-- Natasha walked past him with seven glass tumblers balanced in her hands. Perfect.

Clint and Bruce finished putting the last of the brown sugar and raisins on the table around the same time Steve finished cleaning up the worst of the orange mess and Tony _finally_ made it to the table with bowls. Phil topped off his coffee and joined them.

The seven of them converged at the table at the same time, pulling out chairs and sitting down before passing bowls of oatmeal around the table at high speed.

"Pass the raisins over here?"

"I thought you already had the raisins?"

"Didn't we say we were going to get two bags of raisins next time? Didn't we?"

"Where did the brown sugar go?"

"Give me the orange juice."

"Weren't we going to get dried cranberries for the oatmeal too?"

"Wow, that's--ahem--that's a lot of green peppers."

"I don't understand how you people can eat raisins. Ugh."

"The small grapes are most pleasing in a meal of steamed oats! You would do well to hold your tongue."

"Clint, if you throw one more raisin at Tony, we are going to be having words later, and you will not enjoy it."

"...Yes, sir."

"Wow, Barton, he's got you _whipp_\--"

"See me after breakfast, Mr. Stark."

"...Fine."

Finally, Steve cleared his throat and looked around the table with his best, most earnest, team-building smile. "I'd like to thank you all for making time in your schedules for team breakfast."

There was a lot of poking at congealed oatmeal and scrutinizing glasses at that, the exceptions being Thor's sharp attention and Tony's uncomfortable scoffing. Phil just watched the whole thing with an air of faint amusement.

"It doesn't seem like a lot, but every bit helps when it comes to acting as a united force in the field." Then Steve put on his brightest bond-selling grin. "I'm sure we're only going to be closer after doing dishes."

That got him pelted with raisins.

**Author's Note:**

> Nat's Russian [according to Google]: _Ostorozhno, yastrebka_ \- Careful, little hawk (diminutive).


End file.
